Vices
by Book of Fire
Summary: Seventh Year of Hogwarts proves difficult when Hermione and Ron come to terms with ‘those’ feelings, each in different ways. Can they get out of this before they sink to deep?
1. Damn

RATING: R (Or M, whatever…)

PAIRINGS: R/Hr, H/G

DISCLAIMER: I obviously don't own these character's, all credit to J.K Rowling, with the exception of those I make up.

SUMMARY: Seventh Year of Hogwarts proves difficult when Hermione and Ron come to terms with 'those' feelings, each in different ways. Can they get out of this before they sink to deep?

A/N Basically I'd really like to send this out in chapters, and then join them all into

one long chapter, to save people the time in reading it. Read, Review, hope it's ok.

CHAPTER 1: Damn

Hermione Granger sat in her bedroom, tired but still awake, reading through their latest Defence Against the Dark Arts book. As glad as she was that they'd managed to convince Remus Lupin to return to teaching, she was still exhausted from all her work.

Checking her watch and finding it to be a little past midnight, she decided to go to the common room and attempt to write her 6 foot essay on Vampire mating rituals.

Walking down, she found Harry to already be on one of the couches, brooding into the fire. Beyond the point in their friendship of always needing words, she simply sat down next to him, leaning on him a little so he was aware of her presence. Well, that was part of the reason she leaned on him. The other was because she new how much physical contact meant to him, being cramped with the Dursley's constantly had given

him an aversion to touch, one that was taking him a while to get over.

Hermione, however, was one of the few who could encourage him into contact, and though he continued his brooding, he placed a quick kiss on her cheek and rested a friendly arm around her shoulder. In the outside world, perhaps this could be considered a more than amicable affection. However after everything they'd been through, it was simple companionship and comfort that created the physical bond.

Hermione worked quietly on her essay, leaving Harry to his thoughts. But after about ten minutes, Harry spoke. 'I'm worried about Ron.' Hermione nodded, she understood. Over the last year Ron had changed, matured. Whilst with his friends he was still the relaxed, funny git he had always been, he had definitely grown up. The awkwardness had left him, and in its leaving revealed a confident young male, with one thing on his mind. There were few girls within the school he had not bedded, and those he had…well, let's just say that despite anger at his callous treatment of them, they still would not hesitate at the thought of a second round.

Hermione had found it a difficult time. She loved Ron dearly, he was one of her best friends, and a part of her knew that these feelings were probably because she was no longer the main female in his life. But the other part of her, the one she had buried the first time she saw him with Lavender, knew she was hurt.

'He'll be fine Harry, the only thing Ron Weasley has to worry about is his fanclub turning nasty and beating one another to death.' Harry grinned, but his heart wasn't in it, and she could tell there was something he was hiding. Not wanting to pry, she left him to his thoughts. After another hour of work, she packed up and closed her books. She shook Harry, who had fallen asleep in her lap about half an hour ago, said goodnight and went to bed. She dreamed of fire.

Hermione sat with Ginny over breakfast, smiling at the changes in her young red headed friend. Ginny had changed, slowly but surely, from the shy pale girl Hermione knew, to a beautiful young woman. Her hair had darkened from ginger to auburn, her skin clear and glowing, and her eyes a beautiful shade of green. She'd filled out too, Hermione regarded her curves jealously. Whilst Ginny had grown taller and more womanly, Hermione had stayed at the same height she'd arrived at Hogwarts in, and her figure had curves, but no where near the sensuality of Ginny. At least, that's what she thought.

'I still like him'. Hermione jumped, their breakfast had been a quiet one, but she knew instantly what Ginny meant. 'I had a feeling you did, why on earth don't you do something about it?' Ginny shrugged, 'He's Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the Chosen One, and I'm just…Ginny.'

'You're right, you are Ginny. You are funny, and smart in a sneaky kinda way. You are gorgeous, so why on earth would you not be worthy of him?' Ginny smiled sadly.

'Because he only has time for his thoughts, his brooding thoughts, and he always recoils from me, even when I pat him on the back.' And that was when Hermione understood – Ginny didn't know about Harry's dislike of touch. She made a mental note to have some firm words with Mr. Potter, whom she often caught staring at the youngest Weasley.

'His lordship enters,' Ginny scoffed, still slightly repulsed by her brother's new found hobbies, namely women. Hermione turned. You had to hand it to them, Quidditch was an excellent game.

Ron had grown even more last summer, now towering over every other Weasley at 6ft7. His hair, like his sister's, had darkened to auburn and now reached his shoulders, and he had filled out. Broad shoulders tapered off into a lean waist, and his robes hid a stomach that could still make Hermione think bad thoughts. His awkward walk, brought about by hands and feet too large for his body, had changed into a confident swagger. Harry entered with him. Whilst nowhere near as tall as Ron, his body had the same leanly muscled look, though Harry's were slightly stockier. His hair, though still unruly, was somewhat tamed by the length.

They each pulled up a chair either side of Hermione, Ron's long legs stretched out under the table. Harry smiled at Hermione, and Ron planted a quick kiss on her cheek before stealing a piece of buttered toast off her plate. Many girls at Hogwarts had wondered how Hermione had the two best looking guys in the year trail after her, and the mystery still stood.

The truth was, it was because they adored her. No one else helped them with their homework in a way that they could understand, no one else knew what to put on a Quidditch injury so Madam Pomfrey would let you play another game. No one else would be there for a hug, at times when they were feeling incredibly unmanly, and needed female attention of the non-sexual variety.

At least, that's what used to happen. Whilst Harry still stayed close, Ron had stopped hugging her a while back. Hermione had tried to hide her hurt, tried to ignore the realization that Ron now had other girls to get his female contact from, but it still ached.

Hermione sat quietly in the common room, working through the essay she'd just written. She often liked to read through and re-write her essays several times before handing it in, especially her potions essays. She heard the portrait door open, and in stumbled a slightly drunken Ron. Knowing full well that a man of Ron's size would have needed to drink several bottles of fire-whiskey before it hit, Hermione frowned.

'Where have you been? And why on earth are you so drunk?' Ron refocused his eyes, and saw before him an angry sprite. Hermione didn't realise it, but she had changed too. Her hair had tamed slightly, so that dark chocolate curls now formed around her pointed face. Her mouth, with its slight moue of a frown, was like two dark petals, and her eyes looked deliciously deep in the darkness. She still wore her school uniform, but one of her buttons had come open, so the slight rise of her breasts could be seen. The moonlight streaming in through the window created a slight see-through affect on the white school shirt, and Ron's drunken eyes noted the curves and flatness of her hips and stomach.

He grinned.

Hermione's heart did a slight flip flop at the grin, but she ignored it to focus on the youngest male Weasley's drunken state. 'Who was she?' She was proud that she'd managed to keep the hurt out of her voice. Ron shrugged, 'Does it really matter?'. The alcohol hadn't slurred his words, but it did create a huskier impression. His voice, already far deeper than it had been a few years ago, now had a husky edge to it. Again, Hermione held her dignity, refusing to be enthralled by her best friends new looks.

Ron stared. It had been a while since he'd let himself think about Hermione like this, although thinking about anything right now was slightly difficult. Lurching, Ron was held up by Hermione, and found himself resting against the wall by the fireplace, supporting himself with one arm, whilst the other gripped Hermione's left shoulder. He looked down. She was so tiny, her big brown eyes staring up at him.

'Who cares who she was, why do you care, no one cares.' Hermione winced, he had slurred slightly, and his words were the kind of drunken ramblings that she'd gotten used to with two males as friends. She couldn't help but notice the look in his eyes, they'd gotten so much darker, and were now staring at her intently, particularly at his mouth. His hand still gripped her shoulder, but now started to trail down to her side, sending shivers as he passed over her ribcage.

Ron's drunken mind noted how thin his friend has gotten, and was about to tell her to eat more, when he noticed her eyes fogging over. Even in his drunken state, Ron had enough knowledge of women to grin slightly.

God he looked good, towering over her and running his hand across her stomach. She closed her eyes momentarily, only to find that his hand had slipped lazily inside her shirt, and despite their proximity to the fire, she found herself shivering.

Ron moved his hand slowly upwards, purely experimenting with her facial expressions, and noting the changes in her body. He found very quickly the ill effects of such experimentation – his pants had gotten painfully tight, and, after lightly brushing the underside of her breast with a thumb, found her tiny sigh to be the strongest aphrodisiac he'd ever faced. He couldn't stop thinking how small and light she was, and decided to test it (for in his drunken state this seemed like a brilliant idea). Removing his hand from her shirt, Ron ran a thumb down her back, cupping her buttocks. He found she was small enough to lift with one arm.

Hermione found herself being lifted up and pressed against the wall at her back, held in place only by instinctively wrapping her legs around Ron. She was now eye to eye with the man she had wanted since second year, and found herself hypnotized by his sharp features and soft mouth.

Ron's drunken mind was enough to note the fact that she wore stockings, the kind with a suspender belt, so he could see a line of golden flesh where his hand pushed her skirt up. He leaned between her legs, and she felt a hard bulge in his jeans. This was enough to snap her out of her reverie, and she quickly used her second advantage to push back and jump down. Hermione Granger, sensible and clever, returned. She ran upstairs without looking back, whilst her tall best friend stared, still leaning against the wall.

Damn.

Ron couldn't sleep. True it was a Saturday, and they didn't have training until the afternoon, but he still couldn't sleep. Admittedly, part of this was due to the roaring hangover he had, but the other part was thinking of last night. He could barely remember what happened, only climbing into through the portrait and then…what? He remember skin, so soft it felt like silk, and a smell. Vanilla and coconut and parchment. He remembered eyes, deep and brown, and he remembered the body, a tiny thing with curves that made him drool at the thought. He remembered a sigh, so soft and delicate that it had made him harder than a brick wall.

Who? Who the hell had it been? He'd felt so good, like no other woman in the castle made him feel. He knew why he'd turned into such a…well…slut. It was because there was a woman, in his very house, who had plagued his every thought. She was brilliant and smart, and stunning, and his best friend. Hermione. He'd wanted her since she first told him his rat wasn't yellow. That bossy, infuriating, passionate witch. But no, he'd never compare to what she could have. First were her studies, her constant obsession with being top of everything. And then there was Krum, Gods how he'd hated Krum. That sallow brow and sulking face, and the way he'd looked around Hermione. She could have any man in the world.

So he'd chosen his own means of dealing. Other women. And oh yes there had been plenty. But none whom actually he cared for, or who wanted him for any other reason than sex.

Until last night. That girl, that young woman, the very thought of her was intoxicating. He couldn't get it out of his head.

Quidditch had formed a brilliant distraction, and, after washing off in the locker room, Ron decided on a walk. Down by the lake, the sun was setting and, after finding a secluded area, lit up a cigarette. Dirty habit. Disgusting habit. But with the kind of fire he had in his blood right now, fire for his mystery common room woman, Ron quenched it. He took a long drag, holding in the nicotine, and slowly breathing out.

Harry found him about 15 minutes later, still smoking, and sat down with him, pulling out his own pack. (A/N look I know it's bad that I am making them smoke, but I figure that after all they've been through, you're gonna have some kinda vice. In no way I do promote smoking or think it is cool).

'I can't figure out who it was mate.' Harry shrugged; he'd gone to bed early, thoughts of a certain red-headed woman crowding out all his brooding. 'Maybe she'll be there tonight.' Ron nodded assent, grimacing when he realized he was supposed to be meeting with a Hufflepuff 5th year. He knew he should really cut down, but sex was like a drug to him, he had a constant craving for…well for her. Hermione. He couldn't escape it, and the episode last night had just caused a greater need for a female body underneath him.

Hermione had had a difficult day. Working was difficult when all you could think about was your best friend's hands on your body. His reaction when he saw her during Quidditch practice made her realize he didn't remember anything from last night. Well she did. She remembered his hands, his long fingers exploring her. She remembered his strong arms, how she could feel his muscles bunch and tense in his back when he lifted her. His smell…god his smell…he smelt like spices and sweet whiskey, and…Ron. She sighed.

She'd suppressed this, hidden it, avoided it constantly, until her feelings were just a tiny buried rock in her heart. And now…now it was all here again. The distraction and the dreams and the hurt at the sight of him with other girls

She watched as he and Harry entered the common room, each smiling slightly. She smiled to herself, they honestly thought she didn't know that they smoked! She didn't care to much, but it hurt a little that her two best friends hid it from her. She shifted slightly in her chair, and, unbeknownst to her, her skirt rode up a little.

Ron stared. Stockings. Hermione was wearing stockings. The girl last night had worn stockings. He quickly hugged Hermione, breathing in deeply. Vanilla and coconut…parchment. Ron stared as Hermione went back to her work.


	2. Unearthed

RATING: R (Or M, whatever…)

PAIRINGS: R/Hr, H/G

DISCLAIMER: I obviously don't own these character's, all credit to J.K Rowling, with the exception of those I make up.

SUMMARY: Seventh Year of Hogwarts proves difficult when Hermione and Ron come to terms with 'those' feelings, each in different ways. Can they get out of this before they sink to deep?

CHAPTER 2: Unearthed

Ron stared at the fire. It was past one in the morning, and, unable to sleep, he'd come downstairs to the fire. He sat, shirtless, wearing only his jeans, contemplating. Stockings, vanilla, coconut…the words whizzed through his mind in quick succession. It was her, the girl from the night before, the reason he had been so hard the entire day, the kinaesthetic memory of her skin on his fingertips. It was Hermione. Ron didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

All these years of wanting her, of burying his want by indulging his animalistic inclinations, of dreaming of her and only her, and last night had occurred. What did she think of him? He remembered it now, his drunken tryst with some Ravenclaw, desperately wishing that the body under his had belonged to someone else. Stumbling through the portrait, thinking of sprites. His sprite. His firey, bossy and insanely passionate sprite. His best friend.

He'd pushed her away. Refused the hugs and physical comfort he'd once taken refuge in. Because he would never, could never, be enough for her. He knew how much she deserved, how her empathy and her kindness, her strength and her brilliance, her beauty (and good lords, what beauty it was), all meant he would never be enough for her. Ron Funny old Ron. Silly and sulking and childish and immature. Getting screamed at when homework had been forgotten, getting told off for indulging in the occasional swig of whiskey. He loved every second her eyes flashed at him whilst she told him he should focus on his work more. With her around? Not bloody likely. And now...

Ron sighed. Brilliant, the one time I actually get to hold her in my arms, to feel her pressed against me, and I'm drunk. She probably thinks I'm the world's biggest git. Round of applause for Weasley.

And yet. And yet Hermione had not seemed so keen to be rid of him. In fact until she actually realized the physical effect she was having on him (he groaned, he could barely keep the blood in his veins from trying to rush to that certain body part), she had almost seemed to be enjoying herself. Ron smirked to himself. He was fairly certain he could find a way for Hermione to enjoy herself even more.

He remembered the wanton look in her eyes, lips slightly parted and soft, almost inaudible sighs escaping those lips. He could think of several things he'd like to have those lips on…DAMN! Ron stood, and angrily stomped to the boys bedrooms, preparing himself for a long night.

Hermione sighed quietly to herself, a tiny frown appearing on visage. She could not get what had happened out of her mind. Damn him. Damn him for coming in drunk. Damn him for looking so good, even, no, especially with his hair dishevelled and his eyes red from drink. Damn his hands, those long, elegant fingers. Damn the muscles in his back.

DAMN HIM!

Hermione sat quietly on the stairs, well after everyone had gone to sleep. She was attempting to think nothing, something she could rarely, if ever, manage. 'I'll have to ask Ron how to…', she almost smiled at her thought, before realizing who she had thought about.

Leave my head damnit! Rising, preparing to resign herself to sleep, to dreams, she didn't notice the figure on the other side of the common room, stomping loudly over to the stairwell.

Colliding with Ron Weasley was always an uncomfortable occurrence, but for someone as tiny as Hermione, it was downright painful. Preparing to launch into tirade at whoever had bumped into her, she found herself staring into a pair of dark blue eyes. Shirtless. Very shirtless. Hermione tried not to stare at the leanly muscled figure, broad shouldered and strong.

'Oh gods,' she thought. 'What do I do? Come on brain, work!' Well this was interesting, Ron quickly calculated the likelihood of someone coming downstairs and decided the slim chance was enough reason to be pleased she was here.

"Um, why are you up so late?" Hermione winced, even to her the words sounded forced and completely scripted. Ron smirked. So that was how she wanted to play it? As if there was nothing? His smirk deepened. Oh this was going to be fun.

"Just handling some business. Important business." Hermione regained her wits and crossed her arms. "What, another one of Ginny's suitors being 'dealt with'? Since Ginny's maturing, Ron had become even more protective. To put it kindly, there was only one man who could ever touch his sister in _that_ way. Hopefully he'd realize it soon. In the meantime…

Well it was true. Before the fireplace brooding, he had gone to…deal…with two boys in younger grades. One of them he had discovered had tried to force Ginny into going to Hogsmeade with him. Well, he wasn't going to be doing anything of the sort for a while now. As for the other…

His over protectiveness had not stayed solely for his sister. Several times this year he'd caught wind of rumours, crushes…on Hermione. The wise man kept his feelings about Hermione to himself with Ron around.

Hermione suddenly noticed how close Ron was standing. She shifted slightly, unaware that the movement opened the upper part of her shirt slightly. Ron nearly drooled at the small expanse of flesh revealed, the soft curve accentuated by the firelight. He mentally shook himself into control. He leaned closer to her, his height and broadness overshadowing her small, slim figure.

"What are you doing?" Hermione was so confused. Here he was, her best friend, who had only last night made her feel so electric she thought she may have sparked. Only now the feeling was like warm honey being poured down her back. Again, she tried not to think of that chest and stomach, of reaching out and feeling the tough but soft skin.

"I don't know." It was the truth, he had no idea. But he knew what he wanted to. Once again he ran his hands down her back, lifting her up against the wall. This time, she felt immediately the evidence of his arousal. His eyes asked her questions, for permission, anything.

Her eyes, god those eyes and those long dark lashes, answered him. Clouded over with confusion at her body's reaction to him, he got the consent he desired. His left arm now held her in place, whilst his right was free to roam over her front. Slipping a hand under her shirt, he didn't take his eyes off her face as she moaned softly.

He gently brushed the underside of her breast, before moving his hands up to her hardened nipple. He smirked at the soft gasp his explorations elicited, as her head slipped back to rest against the wall. Suddenly his hand was off her breast, and she found herself gripping his broad shoulders, though she had no clue when she'd moved them there, with her nails. She realised how much she craved the continuance of the physical contact. He winced slightly, but more from shock than pain. In fact, gods the feel of her digging her nails into him. He'd always known she was passionate but…he reined himself in. He was really going to enjoy getting Hermione's passionate side to rear its stunning head.

He trailed his hand down, across her belly and under the school skirt she was wearing. He felt his pants tighten painfully as he moved his hand up her soft thigh, the material feel of the stockings contrasting with the silky smoothness of her legs. Hermione couldn't move. He didn't break eye contact, even when her eye lids began to lower as her stroked the outside of her panties, which he could feel soaked through with her arousal.

She sighed, louder than before, and it quickly turned to a low moan as she felt those long fingers slide inside her. Gods, she thought, what the hell am I doing? But unlike last night, she couldn't make herself leave. She felt him against her thigh, hard, and shuddered slightly. The shivers began slowly, as he stroked her from the inside, his thumb rubbing lazy circles over her clit.

Nothing was supposed to feel this good. She felt his hand tighten on her backside as he continued his slow torture of her. She felt something building, coiling inside her. Rising and building and climbing and mounting and increasing and….GODS.

Ron felt her tighten around him, her entire body stiffening up at the feel of her first orgasm. She bit her lip so hard it bled a little, to keep herself from crying out with the pleasure of it. Her nails scratched down his back as she tried to anchor herself on something, anything, before she was swept away by her own waves. He felt her suddenly go limp against him, her head rising and her eyes, still clouded with lust, locked with his.

She knew what was coming next. He gave her just long enough to recover, just long enough to be able to hold herself upright, before grinding his jean clad hips against her. She moaned, and, without any permission from her brain, her hand traced a nailed path from his shoulder to his lower abdomen.

Gods, her hand that close, he couldn't control himself anymore. He quickly reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling himself free and, with a quick look to Hermione's eyes for acquiescence, moved aside her panties and impaled her on him. He nearly gasped. She was tight, so tight, tighter than he had ever felt before. He could barely breathe, so good did it feel, so hot and…Gods so tight. He looked to Hermione's face, and his breathe caught in his throat.

The pain was exquisite. Hermione had known it would hurt, and by Gods the size of him wasn't helping, but she felt like she was stretched to the breaking point. His eyes never left her face.

Ron stopped, concerned. His size had often caused some girls alarm, indeed in was a rare occasion that he could enter immediately, but this seemed to be more. Then it hit him. "Oh Gods, Hermione…are you ok?" He couldn't believe he'd just assumed she'd already been with men. But no, his tiny, slender lover was a virgin. And yet, he couldn't apologize. For the pain he caused yes, but he could not stop the sense of fierce protective joy at being her first. It was he, Ron Weasley, that had first parted these thighs.

Hermione heard him speak, but could not comprehend his words. The pain was still present but…Gods the pleasure. Her body slowly adapted to the size of him, and she felt the same pressure building once more. Looking up into his eyes, she nodded slightly.

Slowly at first, Ron moved inside his tiny sprite. Gods he felt as if every last drop of his being, all the blood in his entire body, was rushing to there. He began to pick up pace, using one had to hold her between him and the wall and the other to tease and pinch her nipple. Her hands ran across his back, and he knew he'd have the thin nail lines for days. One hand twined in his hair, before falling to his shoulder. The other now hung limply at her side as she gave herself over to what was happening.

Ron buried his face in her neck, biting hard enough to bruise, eliciting yet another of those low, groaning moans from Hermione's parted lips. He moved faster, pumping harder and harder into her. She was now held up purely by her own leg muscles and Ron's strong arm. Her head, although still locked in eye contact with her tall lover, lolled back, and she resigned herself mentally to her own pleasure. He picked up pace, fucking her harder and harder. Gods the feeling was just on the side of pleasure, and the bites he was gracing her neck with suddenly became all she needed. Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, he felt her entire body tense around his length, to the point where it was nearly unbearable. The sight of Hermione, logical, collected Hermione, with her hair in tousled disarray and her mouth forming his name as she climaxed. Ron could have come right there.

But he would hold on. He road out the duration of her orgasm, and continued fucking her until she peaked again and again, before finally, the pressure within him became to much. He pressed her, hard, against the wall, burying his head deep in the groove of her neck as he came. He'd never come so hard in his life. His roar should have been enough to wake the whole of Gryffindor. He went limp, pressing her to the wall, his sweat plastering his hair to his head, still buried inside his best friend. His stunning, passionate, beautiful best friend.

"Fuck." Hermione decided not to reprimand him from swearing, inside twining her hands in his hair and panting just as hard as he did. Slowly, his breathing steadied and he lifted his head, staring into her large, chocolate eyes, feeling decadent and satisfied beyond his wildest dreams. Slowly, he lowered her, simultaneously buttoning up his jeans. He never once left her eyes, and, reaching out a hand, tucked a stray hair behind her ear. She blushed, suddenly shy despite what had just occurred. She felt tired. Satiated and tired. The thought of the stairs was painful.

As if reading her thoughts, Ron hooked his left arm under her knees, and lifted her, supporting her back with his right. To tired to protest, and feeling a sore but pleasurable ache between her legs, she allowed him to carry her upstairs, inhaling his scent, now also mixed with the musk of their actions.

Ron breathed in her hair, the warm scent of vanilla and coconut now mingled with her musky, female smell. Gods she was perfect. Every damn thing about her was perfect. Her eyes framed by those long dark lashes, her hair slightly matted from sweat and thrown in wild disarray, her lips…

As he out her down outside the girl's dormitory, no words were said. It was not the time, reality could be returned to later. For now, there was comfort and security. Hermione shyly stood on her tiptoes to kiss Ron softly on the cheek. Even on tip toes she was still to small, so he had to bend to allow her to do it. Her soft lips brushed the side of his face, and, with this, she turned and disappeared into her room.

Slowly piecing together what had just happened, Ron found a serious anomaly. Those lips, those red, soft as rose petal, slightly swollen from her own biting lips…they hadn't kissed. He'd just been with the woman he craved most in the entire world, and they hadn't kissed.

A/N Not finished yet! But I though I'd leave a semblance of a cliffhanger…next chapter should be up soon. I'd really appreciate reviews – am I going ok?


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